The Awful Possibility of Us- Chapter Five
Series Masterlist
A/N: I've been having an absurd amount of fun rewriting these first few chapters, but this is the part of the book I've really been working toward. I, umm... think I finally found Sadie again. Remember when I said I wanted to strangle her sometimes? Yeah. That starts now. Even all these months removed from writing her, she's still personally funding my therapy sessions. If only she were actually paying for them. Things get a little more real from here, so buckle up, friends. I love her dearly, but Sadie's about to test us all. And Joe. She realllllyyy tests Joe. I kind of love writing that, though. Sadie might've finally met her match. How will she survive? I hope you enjoy this one!
There were few things Sadie trusted completely, but Side B on a Tuesday night had been one of them for nearly six years.
The bar sat just on the outskirts of The Banks and was Tom’s pride and joy. He’d bought the abandoned building during Covid—which everyone had politely informed him was fucking insane—and turned it into a vinyl-record bar in honor of his father, a lifelong radio DJ who had taught him everything he knew about music.
Somehow, the insane idea had worked. Side B had become a Cincinnati staple and, somewhere along the way, one of Sadie’s favorite places on the planet.
Frank Sinatra floated through the speakers as she stepped inside, and for the first time in days, something inside her settled. This was exactly what she needed. Her people. Her table. One easy Tuesday night where absolutely nothing unexpected happened.
The soft clatter of pint glasses followed her around the corner toward the booth they had unofficially claimed years ago. Tom had strung another set of fairy lights overhead since last Tuesday, casting everyone in the suspiciously flattering glow of people who slept eight hours and drank enough water.
Sadie smiled. Then she saw the table.
Claire’s auburn bun. Jess’s camera-ready grin. Bec’s profile turned toward—Tee Higgins.
And beside him—Joe. Laughing with her friends like he’d been born at this table.
Sadie stopped. The way she saw it, she had three options.
A: Leave.
B: Pretend she’d orchestrated this herself.
C: Join the table like a normal person.
Sadie changed direction without consciously deciding to.
One second she was walking toward the table. The next, she was wedged behind a fake ficus with several plastic leaves brushing her cheek and absolutely no explanation for how this had become the best available option.
She risked a glance through the branches. Joe was already looking directly at her.
Well, shit.
His laughter stuttered. His eyes narrowed toward the plant like he was asking, Seriously? Then one eyebrow lifted.
Jess followed his gaze and squinted. “What the hell are you doing?”
Sadie stepped out with studied innocence, patting the ficus as though she had merely stopped to admire it. “I’ve never noticed this tree before. Tom, did you just get it? Weird.” She glanced toward the table. “Also weird, there are an abnormal amount of men here tonight. Two are very large. One is Tom. I know Tom must be freaking out internally, but I do commend you for keeping your cool.”
Tom saluted her with a coaster. “A pillar of composure.”
“Sade,” Claire said. “Get your ass over here.”
Sadie widened her eyes as though she had no idea why anyone was behaving strangely. Jess, naturally, had no interest in easing her into the situation. She turned directly toward Joe.
“Congrats on the great sex, by the way. I heard it was amazing.”
Joe didn’t miss a beat. “It was. Hoping for a repeat performance soon.”
Jess laughed. “Oh, I like you.”
Sadie stared very carefully at the tabletop because the comment had sent a lightning bolt directly through her body, and she wasn’t about to make eye contact with anyone who might somehow sense that.
When she finally looked up, Joe wiggled his eyebrows and patted the empty barstool beside him. Sadie abandoned dignity and sat.
“So, who exactly invited the strays? Because I know it wasn’t me.”
Bec raised her glass. “That would be me.”
Sadie looked between the two men. “Both of them?”
“I invited Tee.”
Tee shrugged. “I brought Burrow. He’s spent the last three days talking about your ass, so I figured he might as well get to see it tonight.”
Joe leaned back with a shrug, entirely unashamed. “He drove.”
“Ah.” Sadie nodded. “So you’re the parasite.”
“Apparently.”
“Good to know.”
She looked at Bec. “And nobody thought to maybe tell me?”
Bec shrugged. “Seemed counterproductive.”
“Fair.”
Sadie turned immediately toward Tee. “All right, Michelangelo. Since you’re here, tell us about yourself. Your competition is a dude named George. He sucks. I know nothing about you except that you look like you were carved from marble, but you have my vote.”
“Sadie,” Bec hissed, already blushing.
Sadie smiled at her, all teeth and menace.
Tee laughed. “Michelangelo?”
“You look expensive and vaguely sculptural.”
“Michelangelo was the artist.”
“I know what I said.”
Bec covered her face.
Joe leaned toward Sadie. “So being carved from marble is enough to earn your vote?”
“It’s an extremely compelling qualification.”
“Good to know.”
Sadie glanced at him. “I’m not sure why you seem so cocky, Dorothy. I didn’t say you were carved from marble.”
His eyes dropped to her lips. That small smile she already recognized as dangerous appeared as he gave a quiet hum and settled his hand on her thigh.
Big.
Warm.
Completely casual.
His thumb moved slowly along the outside of her leg as though touching her in front of all her friends required absolutely no thought whatsoever.
Sadie looked down. Then at him.
Joe was listening to Tee like nothing significant had happened. Of course he was.
At his house the night before, she’d spent hours getting used to the fact that Joe apparently had no concept of occupying the same piece of furniture as her without touching her somehow.
His arm around her shoulders.
His hand at her waist.
Their fingers tangled beneath a blanket while Matthew McConaughey suffered through space.
But that had been private.
Contained.
Easy enough to classify as Joe being naturally affectionate when no one else was around to interpret it.
This wasn’t private.
Jess was six feet away.
Claire could identify emotional avoidance in a crowded airport.
Bec had known Sadie long enough to detect a crush through punctuation changes.
And Joe had his hand on Sadie’s thigh like it belonged there. His thumb moved again. Sadie leaned a fraction closer before she could stop herself. Joe adjusted automatically. Problematic.
She turned her attention back to Tee.
“Give me one useful fact about Bec.”
“Why?” Bec asked.
“Quality assurance.”
Tee grinned.
“She hates cilantro.”
Sadie nodded. “Good start for taco Tuesday.”
“And she thinks shoestring fries are a scam.”
Sadie slowly turned toward Bec.
“Wait, I didn’t know that. I’ve known you for years.”
“You never asked.”
“This is devastating.”
Bec rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Tee looked at her like he’d noticed. Sadie noticed him noticing. Interesting. She glanced at Joe and he was already looking at her. His mouth twitched.
“We’re good at this,” he murmured.
“You went rogue.”
“Successful operation.”
“Under review.”
“Looks pretty approved to me.”
Sadie glanced at Bec again just in time to see Tee say something that made her laugh. The real laugh, not the polite one. Sadie felt her own lips twitch in response.
Joe squeezed her thigh. “So we’re calling the operation a success?”
“Preliminary success.”
“Still counts.”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“And yet here we are.”
Jess leaned across the table. “Speaking of approvals—”
“No.”
“I haven’t even said anything.”
“I know you.”
Joe looked between them. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing,” Sadie said.
“Your turn,” Jess said.
Joe’s eyebrows lifted.
Sadie pointed at her. “There will be no turn.”
“I’m interested,” Joe said.
Sadie turned slowly. “Of course you are.”
His smile was entirely too pleased.
Jess clasped her hands together. “Appearing at Taco Tuesday without tacos automatically triggers friend review.”
“Am I entitled to counsel?”
Sadie turned to Jess. “Your Honor, I’d like to make a motion to dismiss the jury.”
“Denied,” Jess said immediately.
Sadie sighed. Joe squeezed her thigh, and she waved one hand. “Fine. Get it over with.”
Bec took a drink. “I approved him yesterday.”
Sadie looked at her. “What?”
“He brought Tee.”
“That benefits you.”
“He also asked about you approximately nine times.”
Joe turned toward Bec. “Nine?”
“Conservative estimate.”
Sadie looked at him. “You interrogated my friend?”
“I asked questions.”
“About me.”
“You weren’t there.”
“That’s generally when interrogations occur.”
Joe shrugged. “I wanted information.”
There it was again. No embarrassment. No scrambling to make it sound less interested than it was. Just the truth. Sadie stared at him a second too long. Joe’s thumb continued its lazy path along her thigh.
Jess watched the two of them. “You seem to like her.”
The table quieted.
Not completely.
Sinatra had given way to Fleetwood Mac. Someone laughed near the bar. A glass clinked against another somewhere behind Sadie.
But the people immediately around her went quiet enough for her to feel it.
Joe didn’t laugh. Didn’t make a joke. Didn’t even look at Jess. He looked at Sadie. “I do.”
Something low in her stomach shifted. Sadie reached for her drink.
Jess nodded once, apparently satisfied. “Then I approve.”
“That’s your entire vetting process?”
“No. There’s technically also a threat, but I feel like he can infer it.”
“I can,” Joe said.
“Great.”
The conversation moved on before Sadie had to decide what exactly she was supposed to do with I do. That should have helped. It didn’t. Before she could even begin to process it, she made the mistake of realizing Joe fit.
Somewhere over the next drink and another order of fries, he remembered which difficult client Claire had mentioned twenty minutes earlier. He helped Tom carry a cluster of empty glasses back toward the bar without being asked. Jess started arguing with him about whether The Dark Knight counted as a perfect movie, and within five minutes they were talking like people who had known each other significantly longer than an evening.
It should have been nice. It was nice. That was the problem.
Sadie caught herself watching him laugh.
Joe caught her doing it. One eyebrow rose. She immediately looked away.
This was becoming an issue.
By the time everyone began gathering their things, Claire had already ducked out to run an errand, and Bec and Tee had apparently made plans for Thursday.
Sadie hugged Bec. “I expect a full debrief tomorrow.”
“You’re unbearable.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Tee started to hold out a hand.
Sadie looked at it, ignored it, and hugged him instead.
He laughed in surprise.
“You’re on probation,” she said as she pulled away.
Tee’s brows lifted. “For what?”
“Existing in Bec’s general vicinity.”
“Sadie.”
“What?” She looked at Bec. “I like him. That’s why he gets probation instead of an active investigation.”
Tee laughed. “Good to know.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Acceptable.”
Jess hugged Sadie next. Then leaned close to her ear. “You’re so fucked.”
Sadie pulled back. “Emotionally or literally?”
Jess glanced toward Joe. “Dealer’s choice.”
“Goodnight, Jessica.”
Jess blew her a kiss.
Joe waited while Sadie finished saying goodbye.
That shouldn’t have mattered. It did.
They stepped outside. The night had cooled while they were inside. Sadie shoved her hands into her jacket pockets as they crossed toward the parking lot.
Joe looked down at her. “You cold?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not cold enough to admit weakness.”
He laughed and draped an arm around her shoulders. Sadie went with it.
No argument.
No hesitation.
Apparently that was another thing now.
For the moment.
She refused to examine the phrase too closely.
Ahead of them, Tee and Bec were laughing when Bec called back, “Hey, Sades?”
“Yeah?”
“Claire was my ride. Tee’s giving me a ride so Jess doesn’t have to stop at our place. You’ve got Joe?”
Sadie narrowed her eyes. “That’s convenient when I could take you, Bec. Feels a little like a setup.”
Bec shrugged. “Setup for a setup, babe. Respect the hustle.”
“I never claimed to set you up.”
“Right. We can pretend you didn’t fully arrange this.”
Sadie cocked her head, looked Tee up and down, then smirked at Bec. “I’ll just go ahead and say you’re welcome. No need to thank me.”
Bec rolled her eyes. “Lunch at twelve tomorrow. Caf. Don’t be late.”
Sadie waved them off and watched them split toward Tee’s car.
Then she looked at Joe. “Your ride abandoned you.”
He shoved his free hand into his pocket and glanced toward Tee as he closed the passenger door behind Bec. “I’m shocked he’d rather drive her home than me. You think you know somebody, and then they ditch you. Who would do that to a friend?”
Sadie looked at him. “Is this the origin story for your villain arc?”
“You know, it might be. Betrayed and left to fend for myself in a parking lot.” He looked down at her. “Please take pity on me and take me home, Sadie. You’re my only hope.”
“Tragic.”
They stopped beside her Corolla. Joe looked at the car, then back at her. His eyebrows lifted. “So, since you’re taking me home, do you want to just stay?”
There it was. Direct. No coded invitation. No movie excuse. Nothing she had to infer.
Sadie looked at him. “I never agreed to take you home. I might leave your ass in this parking lot too. I’m sure you can figure out how to Uber.”
A curl had escaped her ponytail. Joe tucked it behind her ear. “You gonna leave me too?” His mouth tipped into a smile. “That’s harsh, Sades.”
Sadie sighed dramatically. “Are you asking because you want to have sex with me?”
Joe smiled. “I’m asking because I want you to come over.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I know.”
“Suspicious.”
“I would also like to have sex with you.”
Sadie nodded. “Much clearer.”
“But I’m not asking because of that.”
Sadie looked away with a sigh. “I need clothes for work.”
“We can stop at your place.”
“You’re very accommodating for someone stranded.”
“I’m a giver.”
Sadie looked at him. His grin made the implication obvious.
“Disgusting.”
“You started it.”
“I did not.”
“You asked about sex in a parking lot.”
“I think you’ll find that you asked about sex in a parking lot. I just asked you to come over.”
Sadie looked toward her Corolla and had to fight several demons to keep from rolling her eyes. Then she held out the keys. Joe stared at them. “What?”
“You’re driving. I’m assuming you have insurance.”
His smile spread slowly. “It would be my absolute honor to drive you, Princess.”
Her nose wrinkled automatically. “Ick. I’m actually tempted to leave you now. Never call me that again.”
He took the keys with a laugh and opened the passenger door for her. Before she could get in, he caught her around the waist and pulled her in for a kiss. When he drew back, he tucked the same escaped curl behind her ear.
“Thank you for taking me home, Sadie. You’re a real lifesaver.”
His hand slid from the respectable spot at her lower back and pinched her ass on lifesaver. She couldn’t stop the eye roll that time.
“Let’s go, Joseph. I have work in the morning, and we officially have things to do tonight.”
His mouth tipped into a smirk.
“Promises, promises.”
The stop at her apartment lasted less than ten minutes. Sadie grabbed work clothes and toiletries while Joe waited in her kitchen. He took her overnight bag on her way out. Sadie let him. Another thing they were apparently collecting. Temporary habits, she told herself. Temporary could still be nice.
Joe drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her thigh, his thumb moving absently against her jeans as Cincinnati slid past in streaks of yellow light. Sadie watched the city through the window and tried not to think about the way he’d fit at Side B. Tried even harder not to hear Jess again.
You seem to like her.
I do.
It shouldn’t have mattered. Joe liked her. She liked him. People did that every day without turning it into something catastrophic. Chemistry could feel like compatibility. Loneliness could make company seem more important than it was. New things burned bright all the time before eventually burning out. There were explanations for this. Sadie had always preferred explanations.
The guard waved them through once he spotted Joe in the driver’s seat, and a few minutes later Joe was opening the garage from his phone—a feature Sadie hadn’t known existed until that exact moment. She blinked as the door lifted. Her Corolla looked absurd beside the rest of his cars.
Sadie sighed. “She’s doing her best.”
Joe followed her gaze and laughed. Still smiling, he reached into the back for her overnight bag. Sadie didn’t even waste her breath objecting this time and decided that counted as character growth.
Inside, she kicked off her shoes beside the door and kept walking. Three steps later, she stopped. She hadn’t asked. Hadn’t even thought about it. Joe was already halfway to the kitchen with her bag, apparently unconcerned by the fact that she had just made herself comfortable in his house like she’d done it a hundred times. Sadie stared after him. That felt dangerous. She followed.
Joe set her bag on the counter. “Hungry?”
“No.”
“Thirsty?”
“Nope.”
The house looked different tonight, even though nothing had changed. Same enormous windows. Same expensive furniture. Same palette that suggested someone had searched luxury masculine interior on Pinterest and stopped there.
But now Sadie knew things as she walked into it. She knew about the half-finished space puzzle in the corner. She knew the books were actually read and that downstairs, behind all this aggressively tasteful beige, Joe kept an entire room full of comics he didn’t show everybody.
The house still didn’t feel like him. She was starting to understand why. Joe crossed to the sink and filled a glass for himself. Sadie watched him take a drink.
“Actually, give me one.”
He glanced at her. “I thought you weren’t thirsty.”
“I changed my mind.”
“That was fast.”
“Growth.”
Joe laughed under his breath and reached for another glass. Sadie took it when he handed it over. He leaned against the wall across from her.
“You were right.”
Sadie lowered the glass. “I’m going to need context. That covers a lot of ground.”
“About the house.”
“Oh.”
“I kept thinking about what you said yesterday.”
Sadie glanced around.
“That it’s too cold for you?”
Joe frowned.
“You didn’t say that.”
“No.”
“But you thought it.”
“Maybe.”
His mouth twitched.
“You’re bad at pretending you don’t have opinions.”
“I have excellent opinions.”
“That wasn’t the point.”
“What were you thinking about?”
Joe looked past her toward the living room.
“That it doesn’t feel like me.”
“It’s beautiful,” Sadie said, looking around the living room again. “It’s just not giving you.”
Joe glanced over from where he stood. “What does that mean?”
“It means you filled the rooms.”
“That’s generally what you do with a house.”
“No, you checked boxes.” She gestured around them. “Couch. Rug. Coffee table. Art that looks expensive enough to qualify as an investment. You furnished it, but you didn’t make it yours.”
Joe looked around like he was seeing the place differently now that she’d said it out loud.
“Your personality is missing,” she added.
Joe rubbed the back of his neck.
Then, with an embarrassed little smile, he said, “I don’t really feel comfortable here.”
Sadie looked at him. That she hadn’t expected.
Her eyes followed his toward the living room, and she moved that way without really thinking about it, lowering herself onto the plush rug in front of the fireplace and crossing her legs.
“Why?”
Joe hesitated before joining her. He sat with his back against the couch, forearms resting loosely over his knees.
“I felt like a house was the right move.”
Sadie snorted. “Bold take.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“People kept telling me it made sense. More privacy. More space. Good investment. Whatever. From a practical standpoint, this place checked basically every box.”
“But.”
“But it’s never really felt like home.”
Sadie glanced around.
The house was quiet around them.
Too quiet, maybe.
“If you changed things, it might.”
“Maybe.” Joe looked toward the massive windows. “I keep thinking about looking again.”
“For a house?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve owned this one for approximately eleven minutes.”
“I know.”
“That feels fiscally irresponsible.”
“I can afford it.”
Sadie grimaced. “I hate when rich people say that.”
Joe laughed.
“I’m serious. Now that I’ve actually lived here, I know what I like and what I don’t.”
“Such as?”
“This was a new build.”
“And?”
“I think I want something older. Something with character.”
Sadie pretended to write on an invisible notepad.
“Character. Very specific. Your realtor will love you.”
“You asked.”
“I need examples, Joseph.”
He thought about it.
“A neighborhood that actually feels like people live there.”
Sadie looked toward the wall of glass beside them.
“People theoretically live here. I haven’t seen evidence of it in the last forty-eight hours, but experts predict a strong likelihood that these homes contain real-life people.”
“I guess.”
Sadie stared at him. “Wow. Strong sell. Are you trying to tell me your neighbors aren’t real people? Are they robots? Are you in danger?”
She leaned closer, studying his face.
“Blink twice if you’re in danger, Joe. We’ll get you out of here. My apartment isn’t much, but I’m sure we can squeeze one more person in. Even with your stupid height.”
He smiled with a shake of his head.
“My realtor pushed me toward this area because of the privacy and how much house you could get. It’s safe, which matters. But it’s…” He searched for the word. “Stuffy.”
“You’re surrounded by millionaires.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re also a millionaire.”
“I’m also aware.”
“Just making sure.”
Joe nudged her thigh with his foot.
“I have the money. I just don’t care about looking like I have the money.”
Sadie glanced around.
“Your house didn’t receive that memo.”
“No shit.”
She laughed.
“You know, my mom said the same thing after I bought it.”
“That it’s stuffy?”
He nodded.
Sadie hummed and looked around the living room again.
“Well. Mother knows best.”
“She came over and basically said, ‘It’s beautiful, honey. I’m just surprised you picked it.’”
Sadie smiled. “That is elite mom language for this house is nothing like you and I’m questioning everything I taught you.”
“Pretty much.”
“So, character.”
“Yeah.”
“Anything else?”
Joe thought for a second. “I want a basketball hoop.”
Sadie stared at him.
“In the driveway,” he added.
“No, I understood the concept. I’m just processing the ambition.”
He laughed. “Shut up.”
Sadie pretended to jot something down. “Character. Neighbors with detectable heartbeats. Radical freedom to bounce a basketball on your own property.”
“Exactly.”
“Your realtor is going to have a very challenging afternoon, Joe. You’re really going to make them work for it this time.”
Joe rolled his eyes.
“I want a neighborhood where I can put one up without some corporate attorney three houses down glaring through his blinds and deciding I’m lowering property values.”
“That’s a very specific fear.”
“I’ve met my neighbors.”
“Fair.”
“I want trees. People around. Somewhere my family can come over and nobody feels like they’re going to break something if they touch it.”
That quieted her.
Joe’s gaze wandered around the room.
“My parents. My brothers. Friends. Whoever. I want people to actually be comfortable here. I want it to feel like a home. Somewhere I can stay for a while. Build a life. Have people over. Maybe have someone there with me eventually.”
Sadie looked at him.
For all the talk about trees and neighbors and basketball hoops, Joe wasn’t describing a house anymore.
He was describing the life he wanted inside it.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “That I can see.”
He glanced over.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What do you want?”
“In a house?”
Joe nodded.
“Oh, I know exactly what I want.”
His eyebrows rose. “That fast?”
“I’ve built the same house in different fonts on The Sims for approximately twenty years. I’m well versed in what I want should I theoretically ever have the means to get it.”
A laugh escaped him.
“You know, I think we need to revisit the way you judged me for being an inside kid yesterday. You don’t exactly have the moral high ground if you’re still playing The Sims in 2026.”
Sadie looked offended. “Excuse you. I’m allowed to mock you. We never established reciprocity.”
He smiled. “So you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”
She pressed a wounded hand to her chest. “How dare you imply I can’t take it. I take criticism beautifully. I simply reserve the right to reject it when it’s incorrect.”
“Convenient.”
“I prefer selective accountability.”
Joe laughed. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
“And The Sims isn’t gaming in the traditional sense.”
Joe stared at her. “Oh, I have to hear this.”
“It’s interior design with occasional murder.”
He laughed.
“Sometimes architecture,” she continued. “Sometimes storytelling. Occasionally I remove a pool ladder and let natural selection run its course.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Multidisciplinary.”
Joe shook his head, still smiling. “Fine. Tell me about your multidisciplinary dream house.”
Sadie settled more comfortably on the rug. “What about it?”
“You said you keep building basically the same one.”
“More or less.”
“So what’s in it?”
“Furniture, usually.”
Joe gave her a look. “Who’s in it?”
Sadie glanced at him. “You’ve gotten awfully interested in my imaginary real estate.”
“You’ve spent twenty years designing it.”
Sadie narrowed her eyes. “That sounded suspiciously like respect for my qualifications.”
Joe’s mouth twitched. “Give me the full tour.”
Sadie pulled one knee against her chest.
“Fine. Full tour.”
Joe smiled. “Who was the lucky guy?”
“Lucky is a strong word. Some of them had extremely demanding wives.”
“Naturally.”
Sadie tucked her chin against her knee. “Mostly it was different fictional characters who were obsessed with me. Obviously.”
Joe looked at her. “Anyone in particular?”
She shrugged. “Depends what I was watching or reading at the time.”
“The Sims was kind of an extension of the fanfiction thing. Sometimes I’d build the characters so I could visualize them. Houses too. Settings. Whatever.”
“That’s actually pretty smart.”
“I know.”
Joe’s mouth twitched. “Did you build the Mystery Van?”
“Oh my God, you have to get over the Mystery Van.”
He laughed. “All right. No Mystery Van. Tell me about the house.”
Sadie shifted against the rug. “Which part?”
“Start with what it looked like.”
Sadie looked into the empty fireplace.
“Cozy.”
“You’re going to have to do better than that after what you did to my house.”
“Warm,” she corrected, smiling slightly. “Lots of exposed brick. Vines growing wherever they’re allowed to get away with it. Big windows, but not this prison-glass situation.”
“My windows are a prison now?”
“Luxury prison. Like Martha Stewart prison.”
Joe laughed.
Her eyes drifted back toward the fireplace.
“I don’t know. I always make it feel lived in. Nothing matches perfectly, but somehow it all works. Like they filled the rooms over years and years from estate sales and antique stores instead of walking into one furniture store and buying everything at once. They hunted for exactly what they wanted and didn’t care what was trendy or what some future buyer might think if they sold tomorrow. Everything has a story. Probably a ghost attached to it too, but like a nice ghost. A sweet one who’s emotionally invested in the family.”
Joe laughed softly.
“There’s color everywhere. Books stacked in places books probably shouldn’t be. A fireplace that actually gets used instead of sitting there looking expensive.”
Joe glanced toward his own.
“That felt targeted.”
“It was.”
She smiled, but the picture was already unfolding now, easier to see than the room around her.
“There’d be a huge kitchen. Not fancy-huge. Just enough room for everybody to end up in there even when they’re supposed to be somewhere else. A big island people sit around while someone cooks. A window over the sink because washing dishes is miserable and I feel like you deserve something pretty to look at while you suffer.”
“Very thoughtful.”
“I’m extremely compassionate.”
“Clearly.”
“Outside there’d be trees. A garden Sim-Sadie could actually keep alive, and something pretty beyond the windows. Water, preferably. I’ve always liked the river at night when all the lights hit it.”
Joe looked at her. “That’s surprisingly sentimental.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Sadie smiled faintly.
“There’d be a library, but not one of those giant intimidating ones where you feel like you need permission to touch anything. More like a sunroom with books and plants everywhere and stupidly comfortable chairs. Another fireplace. Blankets everywhere.”
“How many fireplaces are in this house?”
“As many as I want. I’m well versed in the motherlode cheat code.”
“Fair.”
“There’d be dogs, obviously. At least two. Well, three. But one of them is definitely asleep in front of the fireplace, so really he’s furniture. Besides, the household caps at eight. It would’ve been reckless not to leave room for a stray kitten.”
Joe stared at her.
“I’m responsible.”
Joe laughed.
He was still smiling when she looked back toward the fire.
“Mostly, though, I think I always built them for people.”
Joe went quieter beside her. Sadie barely noticed. She could see the house too clearly now.
“Extra bedrooms so friends can stay. Space for kids to be loud without somebody panicking about a coffee table. A kitchen everybody crowds into even though there are perfectly good places to sit somewhere else. Dogs underfoot. Music playing from another room. Just…”
Her voice trailed off. She’d been staring into the empty fireplace so long that the room around her had almost disappeared, replaced by one she’d built hundreds of times.
“I don’t know. Full, I guess.”
Joe was quiet beside her.
“Full how?”
Sadie shrugged, suddenly much more aware of him than she had been a few seconds ago.
“People. Noise. Somebody always needing something. Friends dropping by without it being a whole production. Kids arguing upstairs. A dog barking because someone had the audacity to walk past the house.” Her mouth curved slightly. “All the annoying shit you’d probably complain about if you actually had it.”
“You don’t sound like you’d complain.”
“Sim-Sadie is apparently very patient.”
Joe smiled, but he didn’t rescue her from it.
Sadie looked back at the fireplace.
“Love, I guess. That’s what made it feel full.”
The word came out quieter than everything before it. Not tragic. Not profound. Just embarrassingly accurate.
Joe let it sit there for a moment.
Then, “Was there always a husband?”
Sadie glanced at him.
“Not always. Sometimes I was an independent woman with a thriving career and excellent cheekbones.”
Joe smiled. “Okay. When there was one, what was he like?”
Sadie narrowed her eyes. “We have strayed remarkably far from fireplaces.”
“Humor me.”
She sighed and made a show of considering it, even though the answer had been remarkably consistent.
“Well, for starters, his romance bar was always maxed out.”
Joe’s smile grew. “That’s your starting point?”
“Obviously. I’ve already established they were obsessed with me. Why would I waste perfectly good cheat codes on a mediocre marriage?”
Joe laughed. “Hard to argue with that.”
Sadie shrugged. “I have standards.”
“What else?”
She opened her mouth, prepared to give him another stupid answer, but instead her mind supplied something else. A scene she’d recreated in one form or another for years, right down to the furniture and custom content.
She smiled.
“I always liked the kitchen best at night.”
Joe waited.
Sadie tucked her chin against her knee. “Everyone would finally be gone or asleep, and it’d just be us cleaning up whatever disaster we’d made at dinner. He’d be at the sink, obviously, because my imaginary husband had the good sense to do dishes without being asked.”
Joe smiled. “Obviously.”
“I wasn’t spending hours building the man just to give him weaponized incompetence.”
Her mouth curved.
“There’d be a record playing. Something old and embarrassingly romantic. And at some point he’d decide drying a plate was less important than bothering me.”
Joe smiled. “Bothering you.”
“Yeah. Stealing the dish towel. Getting in my way. Pulling me away from whatever I was doing because apparently fictional men have no respect for productivity.”
She could almost see it—the warm kitchen lights, dinner plates still abandoned on the island, somebody’s half-finished glass of wine on the counter. A dog asleep somewhere nearby. The house finally quiet after being full all day.
“And then we’d dance.”
Joe was quiet for a beat too long.
Sadie narrowed her eyes. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly.”
“What were you dancing to?”
“Something painfully cheesy.”
“Specific.”
“The song always changed. The dancing part didn’t.”
Sadie picked at the seam of her jeans.
“Anyway. It was always loud. Kids running through the house, friends staying too late, dogs underfoot. Warm. Messy. Full.”
She glanced around his living room.
“Basically the exact opposite of this.”
“Wow. Shots fired again.”
“You asked.”
Joe laughed.
Then she looked back toward the fireplace.
“I guess I just wanted it to feel like somewhere you’d be happy to come home to. Even after a terrible day.”
Joe considered her for a moment.
“You know what’s funny?”
“Historically, very little when you start a sentence that way.”
“You keep talking about this like it’s a house.”
Sadie frowned. “It is a house.”
“Not really. You barely care about the house.”
“I have been extremely clear about the fireplaces.”
He smiled. “You care about who’s there. The husband. The kids. Your friends. The dogs. Dancing in the kitchen.”
Sadie looked at him.
“Sades, you’re one of the most romantic people I’ve ever met.”
She laughed immediately. “That’s patently false.”
“You know what I think?”
“Oh God.”
“I think a basketball hoop would fit there.”
Sadie hummed doubtfully. “No. Ruins the aesthetic. I’m going for whimsical cottage.”
“You’re going for aggressively happy family.”
“That is not an architectural style.”
“Maybe not, but it sounds a lot like what I was trying to describe.”
That quieted her for a second.
“Different fonts,” he added.
Sadie blinked at him. “This is The Sims, Joe. I also removed pool ladders for entertainment. We probably shouldn’t be treating any of it as admissible evidence.”
“You built yourself into it.”
“Allegedly.”
“You gave yourself the house you wanted, people you loved, and some guy with a permanently maxed-out romance bar.”
“He was very devoted.”
Joe smiled. “That’s my point.”
“It doesn’t mean I think my actual life is going to look like that.”
“I didn’t say it would.”
That stopped her.
Joe shrugged. “I just think you want it.”
Sadie looked back toward the fireplace.
“On paper.”
“What’s the difference?”
She leaned back on her hands.
“Paper is safe.”
The answer came out before she had time to dress it up.
Joe’s smile faded slightly.
“Safe.”
“Books end.”
He waited.
Sadie sighed.
“If the last page says they’re happy, they’re happy.”
“That’s your argument?”
“It’s a strong one.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Nobody comes out with a surprise updated edition six months later where he decides her laugh is annoying and starts sleeping with somebody from accounting.”
Joe stared at her.
“That got specific.”
“It was illustrative.”
“Accounting?”
“Statistically plausible.”
He laughed, but his eyes stayed on her.
Sadie didn’t like that part.
“Real relationships keep going,” she said. “That’s where things get dicey.”
“You think they all end badly?”
“I think they all can.”
“Those are different things.”
“Not if you’re the one they happen to.”
Joe studied her for another second. Sadie pushed herself up from the rug.
“Okay. Enough accidental vulnerability. I need water before I develop a rash.”
Joe caught her wrist before she made it two steps. Not hard. Just enough to stop her. Sadie looked down at his hand and then at him.
“What?”
“You really believe that.”
She frowned. “Believe what?”
“That because something can end, there’s no point trusting it while it’s happening.”
“That feels like an aggressively simplified version of what I said.”
“Is it wrong?”
Sadie opened her mouth.
Joe let go of her wrist, but she didn’t move.
“That house you just described,” he said. “The husband. Kids. Friends everywhere. Dancing in the kitchen. You clearly want all of it.”
“In theory.”
“You want it.”
“In fiction.”
“Why does it have to stay fiction?”
Sadie gave him a look. “Were you not listening to the last two minutes?”
“I was.” His eyes stayed on hers. “That’s why I’m asking.”
She crossed her arms.
“Because wanting something doesn’t make it a good idea.”
“No. But being scared it might end doesn’t automatically make it a bad one either.”
“That sounds excellent embroidered on a throw pillow.”
“I’m serious, Sadie.”
“So am I.”
Joe studied her for a second.
“Do you really think everything just has an expiration date?”
Sadie shrugged. “Most things do.”
“Including this.”
She looked at him.
“Especially this.”
“Why?”
“Because right now it’s new. You’re off. Most of your friends are gone. You have time to spend seven hours talking to some woman you met at a wedding.”
“Some woman.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t think I do.”
Sadie sighed. “Give it a few months, Joe. Football starts. Everybody comes back. Your life gets busy again. This stops being new.”
“And?”
“And you won’t want it like you do now.”
“I reject that.”
Sadie looked at him.
“I’m not the other guys you’ve dated. Or whatever data set you’re using to decide how this ends.”
“You aren’t.”
“Good.”
“You might be worse.”
He actually recoiled. “What the hell does that mean?”
“You’re nice.”
Joe stared at her.
“Devastating character flaw. I know.”
“Too nice,” she clarified. “That’s the problem.”
“How is me being nice a problem?”
Sadie looked back toward the fireplace. Because explaining it made it sound considerably more insane than thinking it.
“You might actually mean it.”
His expression shifted.
“For a while,” she added.
Joe went very still.
“And then someday you might not. Which is fine. People change their minds. Feelings change. That happens.” She picked at a loose thread on her jeans. “But you’re exactly the kind of person who might realize you don’t want something anymore and stay an extra six months because you’re terrified of hurting somebody.”
Understanding moved slowly across his face. Sadie hated it immediately.
“I don’t want that,” she said. “I don’t ever want to have to look at somebody and wonder if he still wants to be there or if he just doesn’t want to be the asshole who leaves.”
Joe was quiet for a moment.
“I’m confused, Sadie.”
She looked at him.
“Because what you’re describing is just… being close to somebody. There’s risk in that. There’s always going to be risk in that.”
“Exactly.”
“No, not exactly.” His brow furrowed. “I can’t tell you where this ends, Sadie. Neither can you. But you keep acting like not knowing means you already know.”
She shrugged. “I know better than to count on it.”
“That’s not the same thing as deciding it has an expiration date.”
“I’m not deciding anything. I’m being realistic.”
“You’re deciding.” His frustration sharpened. “Every time you tell me I’ll get bored, or busy, or stop wanting this, you’re deciding what I’m going to feel before I get the chance to feel it.”
Sadie frowned. “Because those are very realistic possibilities.”
“Possibilities. Not facts.”
“I prefer planning around the likely outcome.”
“And I’m telling you that you don’t know the outcome.”
“Neither do you.”
“Exactly.” Joe looked at her. “That’s the whole fucking point.”
She stared at him for a moment. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re telling me it ends.”
Sadie opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Joe ran a hand over his jaw.
“There isn’t some version of this where I can hand you a guarantee and then you decide it’s safe enough to care about me. That doesn’t exist.”
Her stomach twisted at the phrasing, so she shrugged instead. “We’ve known each other for three days, Joe. We’ve already gone from zero to a hundred.”
“I know.”
“So you see my point.”
“I see that it’s fast.” He paused. “I’m not asking you to make it faster. But I’m sure as hell not asking you to race to the end when it sounds like you’ve already decided what happens there.”
Sadie looked at him.
“Slowing this down and deciding how it ends are two completely different things. You keep trying to give it an expiration date.”
“Because I don’t want to confuse three insane days with something bigger than they are.”
Joe was quiet for a beat.
“Okay. That I understand.”
Sadie blinked.
“But that’s why I didn’t let last night turn into sex.”
She stared at him. “You wanted to.”
“Desperately.”
“Then I’m not following.”
“Because I want to get to know you, Sadie. If this was just sex, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I wanted a night with you where sex wasn’t the whole point.”
Sadie stared at him. “And?”
“You stayed for hours anyway. We watched a movie. I showed you my stuff. We talked.” He shrugged. “I liked having you here.”
Sadie stared at him for a second. “You also like documentaries about solar flares. Your judgment is questionable.”
Joe almost smiled. “You liked it too.”
“Irrelevant.”
“Extremely relevant.”
She ran a hand over her face. “This is an absolutely insane conversation to be having with someone I’ve known for three days.”
“I agree.”
“Good.”
“So we don’t rush it.”
Sadie looked at him.
Joe shrugged slightly. “We slow the fuck down. We get to know each other. We see what happens. That’s all I’m asking for.”
Sadie shook her head.
“You can slow it down as much as you want, Joe. That doesn’t magically create a future where there isn’t one. You think there’s a possibility of something more here. I don’t.”
Joe held her gaze. “Would that really be so awful?”
Her brow furrowed. “Would what be awful?”
“The possibility.”
Sadie stared at him. “Of what?”
“Us.”
She let out an incredulous laugh. “Us?”
“Yes.”
“There is no us. That’s what I’m saying.”
“There’s definitely something.”
“There’s sex.”
“And?”
She stared at him. “And… talking?”
Joe gave her a look.
“I didn’t say there’s nothing. I said there’s no us.”
“What’s the difference?”
“We’ve known each other three days.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then why are you saying us like we share a Costco membership?”
He let out a laugh. “I’m not saying we need to go pick out matching burial plots tomorrow.”
“Comforting.”
“I’m saying there’s a possibility.”
Sadie stared at him. There was that word again.
“No,” she said. “There isn’t. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There is no us, so there’s no reason to stand here examining the awful possibility of it.”
Joe stared at her for a second. “The awful possibility of us.”
Sadie frowned. “That’s not—”
“I’m just trying to understand why the possibility is apparently so horrifying.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Sadie, you literally put the word awful in front of it.”
Sadie exhaled.
“I like talking to you. Obviously. I wouldn’t have spent approximately forty-eight of the last seventy-two hours doing it otherwise.”
“Okay.”
“And the sex was phenomenal.”
His mouth twitched despite himself. “Phenomenal.”
“I’m not going to insult either of us by pretending otherwise.”
“Thank you.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m going to take three days of chemistry and start furnishing a fictional future with it.”
Joe studied her. Sadie looked toward the fireplace again.
“I’m telling you I already know how that possibility ends for me.”
His expression changed.
“I’m not the woman you end up with. You aren’t the man in my kitchen. I know that. I have no shot of keeping you or your basketball hoop, and I can’t exactly download some custom content and add it to my lot. I can sleep with you. I can talk to you. I can pretend we’ll be friends with benefits if we need to call this something. But I can’t get attached.” She looked at him. “Not to you.”
“Why not me?”
A humorless little laugh escaped her. “Because you might absolutely ruin me.”
Joe went still.
Sadie looked back toward the empty fireplace.
“You’re nice. You listen. You remember things. You keep showing up. You make all of this feel ridiculously easy, and that’s exactly the kind of shit a person could get used to.”
“Sadie—”
“And then what?”
He stopped.
“What happens when your season starts and your life looks completely different? What happens when this isn’t new anymore? What happens if you love me for a while and then one day you don’t?”
Joe’s brow furrowed. “You’re assuming—”
“I know I am.”
That stopped him.
“That’s the whole point. I’m assuming the ending before I get stupid enough to start believing in the possibility of a middle.”
His eyes stayed on her.
“People change their minds, Joe. Feelings change. Good relationships end every day between people who meant every single thing they said when they said it. Nobody even has to be the villain.”
She swallowed.
“That’s worse, actually.”
“How?”
“Because if you were an asshole, this would be easy.”
Something flickered across his face.
“But you’re not. That’s the problem. You could mean every word of it. You could mean it for months. Years, even. Long enough that I start believing you. Long enough that I stop treating it like something temporary.”
Joe stayed quiet.
“And then maybe I start looking at that stupid basketball hoop and picturing it in the driveway. Maybe the guy in the kitchen starts looking a little too much like you.”
Her voice caught just enough to piss her off, but she pushed through it.
“Then I’ve taken the thing I’ve only ever let myself have in fiction and convinced myself it’s real.” She swallowed. “And when it ends, that part is real too. I don’t get to close the notebook and rewrite the scene until the character handles it better. I don’t get to make her stronger or funnier or give her the perfect thing to say before she walks away. It’s just over, and I’m alone again.”
She looked at him.
“Except this time I know what it feels like to be with someone like you. And I have to know what it feels like to lose someone like you.”
Joe didn’t say anything.
“I can’t do that. I can’t give myself a fantasy that could destroy me when it ends. Some things you can’t just go back to normal from.” She looked at him then. “The fantasy. The house. The man.”
Joe swallowed. For a second, he looked past her at nothing. Then back.
“So what’s the plan? You stay alone forever, or find somebody you never care enough about to lose?”
“Yes.”
Joe stared at her. The answer had come too quickly. Too easily.
He shook his head. “You know what pisses me off about all of this?”
Sadie gave him a tired look. “Please. Enlighten me.”
“You’ve already decided I leave.”
“Eventually.”
“No.” His jaw tightened. “You’ve decided it for me.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“You’re predicting my feelings and calling it realism.”
Sadie opened her mouth. Joe shook his head.
“You can decide you don’t want a relationship with me. You can decide you don’t want to risk the house or the kitchen or whatever else is in that terrifying little Sims brain of yours.”
Despite herself, her mouth twitched.
“But you don’t get to stand there and tell me I’m going to stop wanting you someday like it’s already happened.”
“Joe—”
“At least give me the chance to be the one who tells you. If I stop wanting this, I’ll tell you.”
She went quiet.
“If I get bored, I’ll tell you. If my feelings change, I’ll tell you. But until they do, you don’t get to write the ending for me.”
Sadie stared at him. Joe stared back.
“I’m trying to protect both of us. This has mess written all over it.”
“No, Sadie. You’re protecting yourself. This has nothing to do with me. You’ve removed me from the equation and already made up your mind about who I am and how this ends.”
“I’m making a prediction.”
“About me.”
“Based on available evidence.”
“Then collect more evidence.”
Sadie frowned.
Joe shrugged. “Isn’t that your thing?”
She hated how annoyingly effective that was.
“That doesn’t mean the evidence is going to change.”
“Maybe not.”
“You agree with me now?”
“No.” His mouth twitched. “I’m saying you apparently need a larger sample size.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“A little.”
She narrowed her eyes.
Then Joe’s expression sobered again.
“You know the part I still don’t understand?”
“There are apparently several.”
“You feel this too.”
Sadie looked at him. “Of course I do.”
Something in his face eased.
“That’s not the victory you think it is,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because unusual doesn’t mean permanent.”
Joe went quiet.
Sadie looked away. “Something can be real right now and still end later. Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
He studied her for a long moment.
Then, quieter, “Okay.”
She looked back at him. “Okay?”
“You want friends with benefits.”
Sadie considered it. The phrase felt substantially safer than us.
“Yeah.”
“You want to hang out. Talk. Sleep together. Whatever. But you don’t want me calling it anything else.”
“That sounds functional.”
Joe huffed out something almost like a laugh. “Fine.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Fine?”
“If that’s what you’re comfortable giving me, fine. I’m not going to argue with you about dating me.”
Some strange tension in her chest eased.
“But,” he added. “You don’t decide what I’m feeling for me.”
Sadie sighed. Joe continued before she could argue.
“If I tell you I want to be here, I want to be here. If you think that changed, you ask me.”
“And if I’m right?”
“Then I tell you.”
She studied him. “When you’re done, you tell me.”
Joe frowned. “When?”
“If. Good God, if if makes you feel better, whatever. The moment you don’t want to do this anymore, you tell me.”
“I will.”
She held out her pinky.
Joe looked down at it with a small smile, and she shrugged.
“Contracts have historically disappointed me. This worked the other night.”
That finally made him laugh. He hooked his pinky around hers.
“The second I want out, I tell you.”
“Immediately.”
“Immediately.”
“No guilt-staying.”
His expression sobered.
“No guilt-staying.”
Sadie nodded once. “Okay.”
She started to pull her hand away.
Joe tightened his pinky around hers.
“Nope.”
Her eyes lifted to his. “What?”
“Two-way street.”
“Oh, absolutely not.”
“Yes.”
“What am I promising?”
“That if you think something changed, you ask me.”
Sadie stared.
“You don’t decide for me. You ask.”
She narrowed her eyes while she thought back to everything he just said, then tightened her pinky around his.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
They released each other.
Sadie exhaled.
“Six months.”
Joe blinked. “What?”
“There should be a time limit.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me explain.”
“You said time limit. No.”
“Six months.”
“No deal.”
“Joe.”
“No.”
“We enjoy this for six months. There’s no pressure, nobody starts making life plans, and at the end we call it.”
“I am not agreeing to that.”
“Eight months.”
He stared at her. “What?”
“I’m negotiating.”
“You made the number longer.”
“I’m showing flexibility.”
Joe rubbed both hands over his face. “Sadie, let me be extremely clear. I don’t want a time limit with you.”
“Well, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because six months is more than enough time for reality to kick back in. Your friends come back. Camp starts. Football starts. You get busy again.” She shrugged. “Honestly, you might not even make it six months once the sex stops being new.”
Joe went very still. Sadie knew that look.
“What?”
“Okay.”
Her brow furrowed. “Okay what?”
“Let’s take the sex out.”
She stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“No sex.”
Sadie laughed. Joe didn’t. Her smile slowly disappeared.
“You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
“You don’t want to have sex with me?”
“I’m dying to have sex with you.”
“Then I’m going to need you to walk me through how the fuck you arrived here.”
Joe gestured toward her. “You just did it for me. You think my schedule filling back up changes this. Fine. We wait for it to fill back up. You think the sex is helping keep me interested. Fine. We take that out.”
Sadie blinked.
“Six months,” he said.
Understanding hit.
Her eyes widened. “No.”
“Yeah.”
“You cannot steal my time limit.”
“I just did.”
“That’s not how agreements work.”
“Six months. No sex.”
Sadie stared at him like he’d announced plans to remove his own appendix recreationally.
“That’s fucking psychotic.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re voluntarily giving up the best sex of your life.”
His jaw worked. “I’m painfully aware.”
“And what exactly happens at the end of six months?”
“We see where we are.”
“No. At the end, we’re done.”
“No.”
“Joe.”
“That’s the part I’m not agreeing to.”
Sadie folded her arms.
“You cannot agree to my six-month rule only selectively.”
“I didn’t agree to your rule. I stole your number.”
“That feels legally actionable.”
“Call your attorney.”
“I don’t have one.”
“You can afford one with all your quarter-a-case detective money.”
Despite herself, a laugh escaped her. Joe smiled. Then his expression settled again.
“No expiration date.”
Sadie’s smile disappeared.
“You get to say no sex. You get to say no dating. You get to say friends.” His eyes held hers. “You don’t get to make me promise that on whatever-the-hell-six-months-from-now-is, I’m going to stop wanting you.”
She swallowed.
“And if six months happens and you’re still…” She gestured vaguely at him. “Here.”
“Then I’m still here.”
“That’s not a plan.”
“It’s enough of one for me.”
Sadie studied him. “I give you two months.”
Joe’s brows rose. “Two?”
“Before you decide this is substantially less fun without orgasms.”
He leaned a little closer. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Joe was still close enough that she could see the faint amusement lingering around his mouth.
“So, friend.”
His mouth twitched.
“What do friends do now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do they make out?”
Joe considered it. “Kissing doesn’t feel very friend-shaped at the moment. Feels illegal actually. Maybe we revisit it after a probationary period?”
“Well, fuck. I’m losing all the benefits that came with the friends-with-benefits package I was signing up for.” Sadie frowned. “Is touching at all allowed?”
“Sadie, I’m strong, but I’m not that strong. I can’t set myself up for failure right out of the gate.”
Sadie nodded solemnly. “Better to ease us into it. So, cuddling is allowed?”
“Friends can cuddle, right?”
“Bec and I do all the time. She’s never given me an orgasm, but her cuddle skills are top-notch. Claire will do in a pinch. Jess is the actual worst. Her ADHD doesn’t allow her to stay still longer than ten seconds.”
Joe laughed. “We’ll be friends who cuddle, then.”
Sadie started toward the stairs.
“Great. Glad we covered that. I have absolutely no desire to go all the way back to my apartment, so I’m staying. I’m also stealing another shirt.”
“That feels very relationship-shaped.”
She glanced back at him. “Careful. We just survived that conversation.”
“Right. This is a completely platonic theft of my clothing and slumber party.”
“Exactly. Although, full disclosure, pants are hostile to sleep and I won’t be participating.”
Joe stopped. Sadie looked back at him. “Do I need a guest room?”
He seemed to consider that with significantly more concentration than the question required.
“Not unless you want one.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Friends can sleep without pants.”
Sadie’s eyebrows rose.
“That sounded better in my head.”
She laughed.
“I’m not wearing a shirt,” he added, as if that somehow helped his case.
Sadie stopped halfway up the stairs and looked at him. Her gaze betrayed her for exactly one second, dropping to his chest before returning to his face.
“Fair’s fair.”
Joe’s mouth twitched. “This is going to be a very long six months.”
By the time Sadie came out of the bathroom, she was wearing one of Joe’s T-shirts and absolutely nothing resembling pants.
Joe, already sitting against the headboard in joggers, looked up.
His eyes dropped. Stopped. Then came very deliberately back to her face.
Sadie smirked. “See something you like, bestie?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
Joe scrubbed both hands over his face.
“This was a terrible idea.”
“Your idea, Smallville.”
“I know.”
She climbed onto the bed. Then paused and looked at him versus the enormous amount of mattress between them.
“Well, this is fucking weird now.”
Joe laughed.
“You were here last night.”
“Yes, but last night there wasn’t legislation, and I wasn’t in your bed.” She glanced at him. “I do very much wish I’d pushed harder for the sex, but you win some, you lose some.”
“No getting each other off. That’s the legislation.”
“Very oppressive government.”
“You agreed.”
“I was under duress.”
“You proposed the six months.”
“You stole the six months.”
“We’re going to be arguing about that until November, aren’t we?”
“Absolutely.”
For approximately ten seconds, they lay on opposite sides of the bed. Sadie stared at the ceiling. This was ridiculous. She turned her head. Joe was already looking at her. Her gaze dropped pointedly to the ridiculous amount of mattress between them, then returned to his. He didn’t move.
Sadie sighed. “Are you seriously going to make me ask?”
“Ask what?”
She rolled onto her side. “Cuddling is allowed.”
“I remember.”
“Just making sure.”
Joe lifted his arm. The invitation was so immediate that something in her chest squeezed. Sadie ignored it. She scooted across the mattress and turned her back to him. Joe settled behind her with an ease that suggested they’d been doing this much longer than they had, his chest fitting against her back as his arm slid around her waist. His palm came to rest over her stomach.
Sadie exhaled. “This feels like cheating.”
His breath stirred her curls. “You negotiated cuddling.”
“Past Sadie was reckless.”
“Past Sadie was twenty minutes ago.”
“She was young.”
Joe laughed softly against the back of her head. For a while, neither of them said anything. His thumb moved slowly over the cotton of his shirt where it covered her stomach. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sadie stared into the dark. Six months. No sex. No dating. No guarantees. Just whatever the hell this was. Joe shifted behind her.
“I set the alarm for six-fifteen. That work?”
“Yeah. Gives me time for two snoozes.”
“All right. Two snoozes.”
A few seconds passed.
“Night, Sades.”
“Night, Joe.”
He pressed a kiss into her hair. Small. Absent-minded. Like it required no thought at all. Sadie closed her eyes. His arm was heavy around her waist. His breathing was already beginning to slow behind her. The room was quiet in a way that didn’t feel empty. And there, in the dark, after spending the better part of an hour explaining every reason she could never let herself mistake this for something permanent, one deeply inconvenient realization arrived. Jess was right.
She was so fucked.
She almost snorted.
In every way except literally.
Sadie rolled her eyes at herself and settled a little deeper against him, letting the gentle rhythm of his breathing and the steady beat of his heart against her back pull her toward sleep.
